APOSTROPHE

If I look back recalling them at will,

how they disgusted me, disgust me still,

those muddy souls, so doughy, whom each day

kneeds and moulds, drawing this and that-away.

That formlessness that takes shape as best suits!

And next seen with the vanguard in cohoots,

those whose own character is to have none,

yes-men by day, lackeys of trends well spun,

compliant turncoats, groupies to sad fate,

pathetic heroes of times desolate.

Oh, worshippers of each new image graven,

if I look back, we had not much in common,

hard times this land faced, and will face ahead,

where none lead; all too willing to be led.